soft pieces of purity laid out on a parchment sheet
it smells like raw memory and a warm home
mixed with a spoon to create something sweet
the lovely aroma lets all my memories foam
pouring in the milk laced with my very own blood
these cookies are for someone who is of worth
mixing in the flour, tears at my eyes threatening to flood
but I will endure the pain to put the dough by the hearth
before I put them in the oven, I try a little taste
I feel sick, and my stomach begins to cramp and ache
I ***** all over the floor and look at all the waste
instead of cookies, next time I should make a cake
i wrote this about putting blood, sweat, and tears into a friendship that made me feel awful about everything. however, instead of ditching the unhealthy friendship, i instead opted for different methods of devoting myself completely to them.